


Re-armed

by antigrav_vector



Series: (R)BB fics - all pairings [6]
Category: Captain America (MCU), Iron Man (Comics), Iron Man (MCU), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Depression, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Get Together, M/M, Matchmaking, POV Switches, Pining, References to PTSD, Slow Burn, Tony POV, borrows from both movie and comics canons, bucky pov, mixing and matching of MCU canon and comics, past suicidal ideation, so much pining, way more feels than planned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8042449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antigrav_vector/pseuds/antigrav_vector
Summary: Steve thinks he's so funny, playing matchmaker. It's driving Bucky up the wall.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2016 Winteriron bang. So there's lovely art to go with the fic! [Check it out here](http://baycatta.tumblr.com/post/150441415495/my-illustrations-of-re-armed-for-the) and remember to leave my artist some love too!
> 
> With thanks to my lovely beta readers: [lil_1337](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337), and [Amonae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Amonae).
> 
> POV switches will be tagged in the text.

[[ Tony POV ]]

"You know," Steve was saying, "if you need a model for this prosthetics line, I might know a guy."

Tony gave him a look. "It's not nearly ready to test."

"That's not what I said." Steve grinned at him. It was almost irritating, but Tony actually kinda liked the guy, even when he was being annoying. "Listen," Steve tried again, "just let me know if I should talk to him about it, alright? He's been having a lot of trouble lately, and this seemed like a good fit. You need a model, his current arm's not the best."

Steve turned as if to leave the office. He'd been showing Tony the month's testing results on the newest iteration of CAD and design software before he'd brought up this little gem of an idea.

"Wait," Tony interjected. "No, you can't drop a bomb like that and then just shrug it off and turn away. Don't even think about it. Get back here and explain."

"Look, Mr. Stark, it's simple. My friend could use a break and I'm trying to get him one. Last few weeks have been... bad. You could use a model to show off your prototypes and pitch them to your board or investors." Steve had the balls to actually shrug that time. "Thought I'd mention him to you and see where it went. If the answer's no, it's no. I won't push."

Glaring at Steve, now, Tony grumbled under his breath. The asshole hadn't been working for him two months and he already knew exactly what buttons to push. "Okay, first, I've told you I don't know how many times to call me Tony," he began. "Second, I'll think about it. I was serious when I said it wasn't ready for testing. It's barely past the CAD stage."

Steve nodded. "Alright, but my point still stands. Eventually, you'll want a model."

"Ugh, for fuck's sake. Fine. Ask me again at our next meeting. And tell me more about this friend of yours now."

"The whole story's his to tell," Steve started slowly, and Tony nodded. That was fair. "Buck's my oldest friend. I've known him since we were kids. Anyway, he and I were squadmates in the Army, and later he was my sergeant."

Steve paused, clearly working through some memories. Tony had to stop himself from nodding thoughtfully. The gesture might be misconstrued. But that bit of information fit with what Steve had told him about his own tour, in which he'd made Captain, though this guy hadn't come up much in the previous stories.

Eventually Steve went on. "One day, our CO assigned us to escort different convoys. Somehow, in those three hours I wasn't there with him, he got hit by an IED that no one spotted in the road. After that, he got sent home, down most of his left arm. His body armour saved his life in that encounter, and I was damn glad it was Stark manufacture." Steve swallowed, obviously biting back strong emotion. "You kept him alive that day, you know, and I'll never forget that. When they pulled it off him, that vest was about half shredded and still had all kinds of shrapnel embedded in it. Some of it protruding from the inside surface. Bucky had the cuts to match." The room was silent for a long while after that statement, before Steve finished. "I got out once I finished my tour, and came back here for him."

Tony cleared his throat but couldn't seem to find words to say.

Steve did after a moment. "If that's all?"

"For now, Rogers," he replied, knowing that the story, abbreviated as it was, would stick with him for a long time. "Keep me posted on the status of those CAD bug reports, and forward me the electronic copies of those notes of yours. I especially want to know about any that crop up repeatedly."

"Of course, Mr. Stark." Steve grinned and left before Tony could yell at him some more about forms of address.

Tony made a face at the now-closed door, and tried to focus on the designs he'd been worrying at before Steve had come in.

Unsurprisingly, it didn't work well, and after a half hour of frustrating himself with his inability to get anywhere, Tony gave in and pulled up the plans for the prosthetics he'd been working on sporadically. Somehow those suddenly seemed a lot more important than any new StarkPhone upgrade.

He also managed to lose himself in the work much more easily.

When he resurfaced, some two hours later, Pepper was standing in front of his desk and tapping her foot impatiently.

"Pepper! Light of my life," Tony grinned at her. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You're due at an R&D progress report meeting in ten minutes," she replied, "and you'd better be there, because I don't have the first idea what problems to look for."

Reluctantly, Tony saved and shelved his work. He'd kind of wanted to get this model to the prototyping stage. He'd had a lot of interesting ideas about haptic feedback and pressure sensitivity that he wanted to test and refine. "Right, right. Main development lab?"

"As always."

* * *

[[ Bucky POV ]]

Steve came home with a quiet aura of smug satisfaction around him. Bucky eyed his best friend for a long moment, not quite lost enough in his own thoughts about his still-frustratingly-fruitless job search not to notice Steve's expression and half-dread what it meant. "Spill," Bucky demanded, "what the hell did you do today, punk?"

"Nothin', jerk." Steve grinned. "Well," he amended, "nothin' yet."

Bucky groaned. "How many times do I have to tell you to keep your nose out of my love life?"

Steve just laughed at him and disappeared into their tiny kitchen. "A few more times," he shot back, and Bucky felt his shoulders hunch slightly. Steve meant well, but never seemed to learn that Bucky wanted him to _stop setting him up_. He wasn't ready for that yet.

Probably not for a while, yet, he admitted to himself.

Today had been a good day, overall. Sam had been pleased with his progress at PT as well as with the shrink. Pleased enough to suggest that he could start thinking about replacing the horrible, plasticky, and utterly useless prosthetic the Army docs had given him.

It was only just barely good enough to pass as a sleeve-filler, as far as Bucky was concerned. It had no real dexterity. Hell, even a plain hook would have been better, really.

None of the currently commercially available models he could currently afford would come close to being useful, either.

And that stung on a damn deep level. The Armed Forces were willing enough to finance a funeral. But if you dared survive getting shot at long enough to get mustered out without spending 20 years and retiring? Good luck and godspeed. You were pretty much on your own.

Bucky, himself, probably wouldn't have survived the experience without Steve, and he knew it. When Steve had simply shown up at Bucky's doorstep with a duffel bag, three months after Bucky's discharge, and moved into the apartment on the spot, Bucky had tried to protest and then hidden in his room for a week.

He hadn't wanted Steve to see him like that.

Those had been ragged days, and he'd been on the bleeding edge of giving up more than once, both before and after Steve had shown up.

Shaking off the thoughts, not really wanting to think about those days and the dark emotions that went with them, Bucky refocused on the present. He still had to pry some answers out of Steve, after all.

Following Steve into the kitchen, Bucky leaned his hip against their small dining table, and leaned on his good arm, his palm planted firmly on the table's surface and elbow locked. "Don't think I didn't notice you deflecting, punk," he said. "Who the hell did you con into being my blind date today that has you looking so pleased with yourself?"

"Why are you so sure it has anything to do with you?" Steve replied. "Maybe I got myself a date."

Bucky snorted derisively. "You? Stevie, I've known you since you were four. You have no ability to flirt whatsoever."

"Bullshit," Steve contradicted him cheerfully. "If I didn't, how would I have gotten you any of those dates?"

With a groan, Bucky shifted just far enough to his right to let himself fall into a chair as Steve threw together a stew. "That has nothing to do with anything, Steve. And if you expect me to believe you, you'd better prove it."

"You expect me to give you details about my love life when you won't say a word about yours?"

"You'd better," Bucky growled. "And telling me whether you've actually got a date doesn't count as details about your love life!"

He was pretty sure Steve didn't have that date.


	2. Chapter 2

 

[[ Tony POV ]]

It took three weeks, but, eventually, Tony was happy enough with his design to bring the topic up with Pepper. He'd started out with a model that was essentially one piece, and attached to a ball-and-socket style joint at the end of the wearer's limb.

That had led him to thoughts about individual variations in where the limb was amputated and what kinds of muscle response was available to work with, and he'd scrapped the whole thing to start from scratch. The second version was similar to the first, but modular, allowing for a lot more flexibility in its use and its usefulness to more people.

Steve's comment about having saved his best friend had really struck a chord in him, and Tony could admit that. It had been a revelation for him in many ways. Just having direct proof that his work was helping was huge. His goal had always been to help keep the troops safe, in as many different ways as he could.

Yes, he built his guns and missiles to protect the troops. But that was indirect protection, at best. It was protection through the enemies' wariness, and that was not reliable.

But things like upgraded body armour? Better APCs? Better comms? Those were far more direct ways of protecting the soldiers in the field. And things like prosthetics would protect the ones who came home like Steve's friend. There had been so many studies already about the correlation between the usefulness of a vet's prosthetic and the suicide rate among that segment of the population. Mental health issues and social perception thereof being what they were.

After that conversation, Tony had done some thinking. And more research.

And he'd made a decision.

Pepper had been stunned when he'd told her last week, and asked her for help convincing the Board. Thankfully he hadn't had to convince her beyond showing her the designs he'd been working on.

"What brought this on, Tony?" she'd asked him.

That same indefinable emotion had risen in him then as he'd felt when Steve had told his story, temporarily making the words catch in his throat. "You remember Steve?"

"Rogers?" Her eyebrow had gone up. "The one you're convinced has a crush on me?"

"That's the one." Tony took a deep breath. "He thanked me for saving his best friend's life, and I..."

Pepper's eyes had softened. "And you couldn't get past that thought, you big softie."

"I just. I realised then that I want my legacy to be more than just a body count, Pepper. I've always wanted that, yes, but when he told me that story, it just... crystallized."

With a nod, she'd straightened, squaring her shoulders. "This will take some work, you know."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know."

He'd shown her his designs, then, pointing out what he wanted to accomplish with each, which market segment they were aimed at, and been relieved to see her nodding in approval at most of them.

The prosthetic arm, as the design he'd spent the most time on, had naturally caught her attention almost immediately. She'd picked it out as the design he should pitch to the Board first. And, what Pepper wanted, where the Board was concerned, she got. In this case, she wanted a working prototype and -- as Steve had predicted -- someone to model it. And that, in turn, meant he needed to build the thing, so that he could have a proof-of-concept model to show them, and find someone to show it off for him.

Refocusing on the present, Tony stared down at the partially built prosthetic sitting on his worktable. He bit back a sigh; it looked like Steve was going to get his wish.

"JARVIS," Tony prompted his AI, double checking the connections and articulation for the upper and forearm and the elbow, "how we doing on machining the parts for the hand and fingers?"

"They will be ready in approximately one hour, sir." JARVIS paused for a moment, before he continued. "Might I suggest a shower and something to eat, in the meantime?"

Tony groaned, standing and stretching out his sore neck and shoulders. "I guess. Order me some Thai, would you? You know the place."

"Of course, sir. Shall I also notify Captain Rogers that the prototype will be ready on Thursday?"

Tony wanted to roll his eyes; JARVIS absolutely _insisted_ on addressing Steve by his military title, even though he was retired, now, officially. "You know, what, no. I'll do it," he decided. "I'll have to dig for some more details about his friend before I can personalise this thing."

"Yes, sir."

Shaking his head, Tony left the workshop.

* * *

 

[[ Bucky POV ]]

It was a Tuesday night. Bucky eyed Steve up and down. His best friend was unusually chipper for a weeknight. Even though he'd gotten out of work quite late.

"Steve," he prompted, "what, exactly, happened today?"

Steve ignored the question, choosing to continue humming happily and stirring the large pot of spaghetti he was making. The pot of sauce simmered quietly on the other burner. "Do you want any meatballs on yours?"

"Steve."

"Bucky."

There was a long tense silence. Well, tense on Bucky's part, at least. Steve seemed unconcerned.

"Steve, I'm serious. I will fucking follow you to work, if I have to."

Steve's smirk showed in the set of his shoulders. "I'm going to assume that's a yes to the meatballs."

"Steve. I'm serious."

Draining the pasta and plating up two basically identical servings, Steve set them on the small dining room table. Turning back to the silverware drawer, he grabbed for utensils, as well. Bucky was distantly relieved he didn't have to have the fight about being treated like an invalid with him yet again.

Giving Steve a long level look did nothing, unfortunately, and Bucky mentally resigned himself to making good his threat. "Fine, don't answer me."

The conversation during dinner was sparse, after that.

Steve spent a lot of time eyeing him and occasionally smirking, and it was driving Bucky up the wall. The man had no conception of how not to be a smug asshole.

Bucky finished his meal quickly and dumped his dishes in the sink. Let Steve deal with them.

His sleep that night was restless, plagued as he was by thoughts about what the hell Steve was up to. It took him over an hour to even convince his eyes to close, and it seemed like the moment he was approaching sleep, a new thought or theory would spring into the foreground, demanding his attention with dogged persistence.

When 0600 rolled around, Bucky was relieved to get out of bed and get ready for the morning run Steve always insisted they both do. Bucky only did it because Steve would have nagged him incessantly, if he didn't. He had other ways to get his exercise, but Steve refused to believe it was enough.

Bucky was convinced that the gesture was a holdover from the darker days when he'd occasionally wondered whether Steve might be better off without him. A way of making sure he was still alive and in one piece.

The worst of it was that he couldn't really claim he hadn't needed it, either. That much was clear in retrospect. But he was doing fine, now. Well, mostly.

A tap on his doorframe pulled him out of his thoughts. Steve gave him a once over where he sat on his bed in his running clothes. "Ready?"

"Do I have a choice?" Bucky grumbled.

"Not really. Come on."

It wasn't until after their run, a shower, a change, and breakfast, that Bucky had a chance to properly plan out his approach. Steve'd told him repeatedly about his job at Stark Industries, and how the security was annoyingly tight -- even for properly authorised people -- thanks to Stark's somewhat anal Head of Security.

The office building across the street, however, had far looser protocols. A subsidiary of Oscorp, it seemed to be their main off-site computational research facility and server farm. The levels where the actual servers were housed had tight security, but the rest of the building was practically open to the public. For someone like him, who'd specialised in infiltration during the bulk of his training, even if he'd only rarely needed to use the knowledge, this was nothing.

He knew Steve worked on the 45th floor of Stark's ostentatious tower, and that meant heading for the roof of this building, since it was only 42 floors high.

Bucky casually broke in through the loading dock of the building, appropriated a set of coveralls and a hat, and made for the elevators. He took them all the way up to the top floor, and headed for the fire escape. There was almost certainly a roof access there, and that was just what he wanted.

He hadn't come kitted out; that would have drawn attention. Even more than his prosthetic. But he knew how to disguise the false arm and keep it from sticking out like a sore thumb, in the meantime.

Frustratingly, though, he learned nothing much of interest. His binoculars turned up a guy with a crew cut that looked buff enough to be a fellow veteran -- probably that guy Clint that Steve occasionally mentioned -- and a dangerous-looking redhead. The strawberry-blonde lady he assumed was Steve's crush only showed up very briefly, accompanied by a handsome guy with dark hair Bucky didn't recognise, and Bucky decided Steve had been lying like a lying liar who lied about getting that date.

When no one else interesting turned up after lunch, Bucky decided it was time to leave. He didn't want to push his luck too much and get caught.


	3. Chapter 3

[[ Bucky POV ]]

Somehow two weeks passed uneventfully after that. It had taken him a few days, but Bucky had eventually managed to put Steve's scheming out of his mind, for the most part.

Looking back on it as he sat in the passenger seat of Steve's slightly beat up car, Bucky was kicking himself for missing the warning signs.

Steve had been playing a long game from the start. The smirks, the refusal to say anything about it... the distilled glee and anticipation. Steve had been looking forward to this day, in a fiercely joyful way. As though it would be the best thing to happen all year, and to hell with the Fourth of July and Christmas.

Steve broke the silence hanging between them as he pulled the car into the parking garage underneath Stark Tower. "I really don't see why you're so against being here, Bucky."

Bucky growled a curse under his breath. "Maybe because you won't tell me _why_ I need to be here."

Bringing the car neatly to a halt in a convenient parking spot, Steve shut the car off, then shook his head mock-sternly. "That's for me to know and you to find out. Come on. You won't have to wait long, I promise."

Later, once he'd been set free with his head still spinning like a top, Bucky had to admit Steve had been true to his word. 

\-----

They hadn't been in Steve's shared open plan office for five minutes when the door opened again and a ridiculously handsome man stepped out that would have made Bucky's jaw drop a year ago. Now it made him ache with frustrated longing instead. A guy like that wouldn't be interested in a traumatised war vet missing an arm.

Steve's focus was also instantly on the same guy, and some instinct he couldn't name started screaming at him that this was the guy Steve had wanted him to meet. The worst of it was, Steve still had his type dialed in perfectly, and this guy was a dead ringer for just about all Bucky's preferences.

"What'd'ya tell him about me?" Bucky asked under his breath as the guy seemed to light up when he spotted Steve, and strode over with purpose. Bucky was thankful Steve's spot along the windows was at the very far end of the office. It gave him a few seconds to gather his wits and attempt to find his composure.

"Only the good stuff," Steve replied just as quietly, grinning unrepentantly.

Bucky scowled darkly at him and kicked at the casters of Steve's chair, not appreciating a having that one-liner turned back on him. He'd used to say that to Steve when he'd still been the one getting Steve dates.

Steve yelped satisfyingly as his chair spun crazily and he drifted to his left. The man approaching raised an eyebrow at Bucky and smirked. "Trouble in Paradise, Rogers?" he quipped as Steve stopped his chair and stood.

"No more than usual, Mr. Stark," Steve replied.

Oh fuck. _This_ was Steve's boss? The one he claimed was the smartest guy in the business?

Steve's hand landed on his shoulder and Bucky startled, jerked out of his thoughts. "This," his friend continued, "is my best friend, James Barnes."

Bucky drew himself up to his full height and offered his good hand. Luckily the correct one for such gestures. "Mr. Stark."

There was a short awkward silence as Stark stared at his hand for a moment, abruptly turned to Steve and started scolding him. "What have I told you about using my preferred name, Rogers?"

Steve grinned widely. "You don't use mine."

The little shit. Bucky rolled his eyes and turned to punch his best friend in the shoulder, trying to shrug off the hurt he felt that Stark had refused his handshake. "Your ma would pitch a fit if she saw you do this crap, Steve. Where the hell are your manners?"

Steve rubbed his shoulder, but Bucky couldn't spare any attention for that. Stark was all but doubled over, laughing. If anything it made him even more unfairly attractive. Despite the weird mix of friendliness and rudeness.

Bucky swallowed back the come on that rose unbidden to his lips. _No, down boy,_ he told himself. _Stark's out of your league and you know it._

He was gonna have to ream Steve over this when they were back at the apartment. They'd had several long discussions over the years about _fucking warning Bucky about shit like this meeting_. He'd have preferred to do it now, while the iron was hot, but this was neither the time nor the place.

Gathering his scattered wits, Bucky tried to haul the conversation back on track. "So, Mr. Stark--" he started.

"Tony." Stark's eyes still flashed with merriment, though the snickers had subsided.

Bucky had to clear his throat before he could try again. "Tony," he conceded. "What was it you wanted to ask Steve?"

"Not Steve," Stark replied. "You."

That stopped Bucky in his tracks again. "Me?" He heard the squeak in his voice and wanted to wince. _Least smooth reply ever, Barnes. Shit._

"Yeah," Stark was openly smirking at him now, very obviously pleased with himself. "You. Got a favor to ask. Come with me."

Bucky turned to interrogate Steve with a glance and got a shrug in return. Interpreting that to mean 'go ahead', Bucky nodded back. He was a vet with three tours' worth of combat experience, and even down an arm, he was sure he could hold his own against a civilian. Though he doubted highly it would come to that. Turning to Stark, he gestured toward the elevator with his good hand. "Lead on, then." Worst that could happen was that he was asked to leave, at this point.

Stark gave him a pleased look, and took off. His body language betrayed anticipation and excitement, mixed with a hint of apprehension, and Bucky had to wonder what on earth that was all about. He'd never met the man before, so Stark's apparent glee made Bucky fall somewhere between worried and amused.

Despite that, though, a surprisingly comfortable silence followed them into the elevator car and down sixteen floors to one of the sub-basements. Bucky looked around, seeing concrete and a tinted glass wall. "What is this place?"

Stark threw his arms wide. "Welcome to my lair," he said, trying for melodramatic and missing by a country mile.

Snickering at the man's antics, Bucky tried again. "Seriously."

Stark stepped up to a keypad that seemed to appear on command, and tapped in a string of numbers. "Seriously. Oh, and don't worry. All the really confidential stuff is hidden away."

Puzzling over that statement, Bucky stepped through the door. And stopped cold. "Holy--"

Looking smug, Stark let the door fall shut behind them and strode over to one of the six workbenches in the brightly lit workshop. A small kitchenette occupied the far corner of the large space, and a row of expensive cars lined the far wall. The rest of the space was about half machine shop and half space-ship, by the looks of it. There were holographic displays everywhere, as well as three... well, Bucky assumed they were robots.

The trio of them rolled over, apparently curious, and prodded at him. Bucky jumped, not sure what to do, and took a few steps back. The three robots followed him despite Stark's admonishments. "Hey, no," Stark snapped, "Dummy, what are you-- no. I have told you a hundred times: no molesting my guests! And you! What have you done to the blender this time?" Bucky glanced back over to the kitchenette and saw that the blender was, indeed, lying on its side, some kind of vaguely green goop slowly dripping out of it to puddle on the floor. "Butterfingers, I thought I asked you to sort the integrated circuit components."

All three made disappointed sounds, looking like kicked puppies, but backed away and went off to continue whatever they'd been doing when Stark had opened the door.

"You alright?" Stark was peering at him, concerned.

"I'm not entirely sure what just happened," Bucky admitted. "Did I really just get--"

"A once over from my 'bots? Yeah. Sorry about them. They're not very bright." Stark waved a hand, as though to brush away the apology. "Anyway, they're not what I wanted to show you."

"They're... not?" Bucky wasn't sure what could possibly be better, as he stared at the one attempting half-successfully to mop up the green goop on the floor.

"Nope," Stark seemed very pleased by his reaction to the robots for some reason. "Granted, I built this too," he added, "but it ought to work a little better than they do."

"Wait." Bucky turned, staring at Stark now, "you built those robots?"

"Years ago, yeah." Stark was frowning at him thoughtfully now. "Thought you'd be more interested in the reason for your visit."

"Well, sure, but the rest of this place is amazing." Bucky knew his voice held more than a hint of his awe.

Stark, oddly, looked like he wasn't sure how to respond to that comment, despite the ego he'd been showing the whole time. After a long awkward moment, he shook himself, and turned back to the workbench he'd been standing in front of. "C'mere, Barnes."

When Bucky stepped up to stand next to him, Stark whipped the cloth off the covered object on the table, and that was it. Bucky was pretty sure he was in love. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked.

"Probably."

Bucky could hear the smirk without even having to look at Stark. He stared at the shiny metal forearm for a moment longer, doing the math and coming up with 'Steve.' His friend obviously had more of a hand in this than Bucky'd suspected until now. And if his guess was on the money... He couldn't hold back the expectant look he knew was on his face as he tore his eyes away from the thing to look at Stark again. "What does your shiny new prosthetic have to do with me?"

"Well," Stark replied, drawing out the word, "I need to show my Board proof-of-concept before they'll approve any kind of full-scale marketing campaign or manufacturing run. For that, I need someone to model it for me. These," he pointed to a set of what looked like sensors on the inside of the prosthetic's elbow, "are meant to make the prosthetic respond to the wearer's movements, to allow for natural movement and control. "

"And you want... me... to model it for you." Bucky wasn't sure he believed his ears.

"Only if you want to," Stark shot back. "I'm all about consent."

That sounded like flirting. But Bucky knew better than to act on it. "You know... I think I just might. Call me Bucky," he offered.

It got him a grin. "Then you'd better call me Tony."

"So, Tony," Bucky turned back to the worktable, "gonna show me how it works?"

"First, I have to ask the obvious rude question."

"What's that?" Bucky eyed him, a trifle warily.

"How much of your arm you still have, and whether you're alright with losing the shirt without an offer to take you out to dinner."

Okay, _that_ was definitely flirty. Bucky swallowed. Still didn't mean he could take the man up on it.


	4. Chapter 4

[[ Bucky POV ]]

Steve found them, still in the workshop, when lunchtime rolled around, and he brought his crush with him. Bucky, still shirtless, cleared his throat nervously but refused to be embarrassed. "Hey Steve," he greeted his friend, who looked unbearably smug. Tony just continued messing with the sensors he was placing meticulously precisely on Bucky's arm.

"Buck," he responded, "this is Ms. Potts. Executive Assistant to the madman building the arms."

"Har har," Tony shot back, not looking up from what he was doing. "Very funny."

Ms. Potts made an amused sound, and Bucky noticed the way her eyes lingered on his exposed torso. "Tony," she said, warning in her voice, "you'd better not be building up to a new harassment suit."

As Tony drew himself up, at that, looking offended, Bucky shook his head. "Nah, he's been good as gold."

"Well," she snorted, clearly somewhat disbelieving, "that's a first. Tony, are you feeling alright?"

"I'm _fine_ , Pep," he grumbled. "I thought you'd be happy that I found a model and alpha tester for this bit of hardware."

She stepped up to him and put a gently hand on his jaw. "I am, and I'm definitely enjoying the view," she told him, "but I expect you to be careful. No injuries. No lawsuits. Hear me?"

Tony gave her a short nod, staying silent rather to Bucky's surprise, and she stepped back.

Bucky caught Steve's attention, then. "Did you need me for something, Steve?"

"Thought you might be getting hungry," his friend replied. "Is this a bad time?"

Bucky shrugged with his good shoulder. "Like I can tell with all this complicated tech? Tony?"

Tony looked conflicted for a moment. "I hate to say it, but this is probably about the worst moment you could have picked. The contacts have to dry properly or any kind of testing we do later will be useless, and that means your shirt stays off."

Steve gave Tony a long look before he nodded. "Order something in, then. I'm pretty sure you can afford it."

Bucky nodded. "Not a bad plan. Why don't you take Ms. Potts for lunch instead of me, Steve?"

Steve blushed. Most wouldn't have noticed it, but Bucky knew the signs. He watched with ill-concealed glee as Steve squirmed under the attention that suggestion had got him. After an awkward pause, Steve cleared his throat. "Would you like to have lunch with me, Ms. Potts?"

Bucky's attention shifted to the lady in question as she gave Steve a measuring look. "As just any old lunch or as a lunch date?" she asked him quietly.

Bucky wanted to cheer. At least this way, he could maneuver Steve into actually _making a damned move_.

Steve swallowed. "I was hoping for a lunch date," he said quietly, oddly shy as he always was in these kinds of situations. Punk had never learned his own worth.

In his peripheral vision, Bucky saw Tony staring, almost incredulously, at the events unfolding. Something told Bucky he wouldn't be silent much longer, though, so he cleared his throat.

It got him everyone's attention. "It sounds like that's settled. Go have lunch," he directed them imperiously. "I'm starting to feel like I'm on display, here."

Tony leered at him. "You make that sound like a bad thing, Barnes," he quipped.

"Call me old-fashioned," Bucky shot back, "but I prefer that to be a one-on-one activity."

Steve choked on air and went pink. "Right." His voice held a hint of an embarrassed squeak. "Ms. Potts?"

She took pity on him, and turned to lead the way back out of the workshop. "You know," she said quietly to Steve, apparently not caring that the words carried, "those two will either get along like a house on fire, or not at all."

Steve snickered. "I'm pretty sure there won't be a problem."

The door shut behind them. Tony stared after the pair of their friends, apparently not sure what to think. Bucky reached up to scratch at an itch at the base of his throat, and his dog tags jingled merrily.

The sound startled Tony back into awareness. "Did that just happen?"

Bucky snorted. "You mean, did I just set up my best friend with his several-month-long crush? Yeah, I kinda did. She didn't seem too upset about it, either."

"That's what worries me," Tony muttered. "I don't need those two joining forces."

Laughing outright, Bucky shook his head. "Don't borrow trouble. It might still crash and burn. Steve has a talent for putting his foot in his mouth. I, on the other hand, get very grumpy when I'm hungry."

Tony raised an eloquent eyebrow at him. "Somehow I don't doubt that. On any count. Fine. Pizza?"

"As long as it hasn't got pineapple on it." Bucky forced a shudder of mock-disgust.

"Oh, you did _not_ just diss the pineapple. JARVIS! Two hawaiian pizzas, and a meat lover's for the square. You know which place." Tony turned to the workbench and picked up a pair of needlenose pliers, then caught Bucky's eye with a deadly serious mien. "You are going to eat your pizza with sausage and like it, and then you are going to try the hawaiian pizza, and have your horizons expanded."

Bucky huffed. "Yeah? We'll see who convinces whom."

He carefully didn't think about the fact that what they were doing here could easily count as a date, if they wanted it to.

Bucky wasn't sure whether that was a good thing for his sanity or his attempts not to tent his pants.

Tony was just too damn attractive for his own good.

Another week later, Bucky found himself back in Tony's workshop being fitted with the actual working prototype.

This time he'd remembered to wear an A-shirt, so he felt _slightly_ less exposed. Slightly.

"-- so if you wanted, we could probably make the sticky sensors implantable," Tony was rambling as he checked the connections, "but it would take some time and research. I have some ideas that would make it possible to inject them with a normal hypodermic, and with the right materials they wouldn't even cause much irritation."

For his part, Bucky was more interested in staring down at the gleaming metal plates that now extended down his arm from his shoulder. Since he still had most of his upper arm, the large contact area made the arm itself more balanced, and easier for him to manipulate. The sensors Tony had designed needed to be placed all the way up his arm, too, for that matter. And that meant that the metal protected them as well.

Mostly, though, it just looked badass, and he _loved_ it already.

When Tony stepped back and looked him over from head to toe, Bucky smirked. "You done with your adjustments?"

"Yeah," Tony grinned at him, "fire it up, baby."

Carefully, but not gingerly, Bucky tested the responses of all the joints, starting with the fingers. Those were easiest to control, and deliberately so. When all of them responded fluidly and accurately, Bucky couldn't help the fierce grin that he felt tugging at his mouth. "Everything's green so far," he told Tony, as he tested the wrist and elbow. "Got a pen?"

"You're right handed," Tony said, accusingly, but he dug through the pile of debris on his desk.

"I didn't used to be," Bucky told him simply.

There was no verbal answer to that, but Bucky could see the sudden slight tension in Tony's shoulders. Another few moments later, Tony came up with some kind of stylus, and made a soft 'a-hah' sound. "Here," he said, offering it to Bucky. "Try this on for size. J, light up a display for the man."

"Of course, sir," the AI acquiesced.

It didn't take much experimentation to determine how the thing worked. It had a pair of little buttons on the side that looked delicate, and Bucky took a moment to get used to the lack of information from the prosthetic about how heavy -- or not, in this case -- the thing was. It felt like he was holding nothing at all.

Gingerly pressing down on one of the buttons with as little force as he could manage made the tip of the stylus glow. He raised an eyebrow at Tony. The fact that even Tony's styluses were high-tech futuristic gadgets really shouldn't have surprised Bucky by this point. And yet...

Tony sniffed at him. "Well? You going to draw me some art, or leave me hanging, Bucky?"

Giving in to the the impish impulse, Bucky sketched a hand giving the middle finger on the holoscreen and scrawled his signature at the bottom of the doodle. Tony laughed. 

"Save that to the archives, J," Tony ribbed him, "it might be worth something someday."

"Aw, knock it off," Bucky shot back. "I'm a nobody, and you know it."

"Not anymore." Tony caught his eyes with an actually serious look this time. "You're about to go down in history as the first veteran to get a Stark prosthetic. Whether the world at large cares, pfft, who gives a fuck. But it's important to me, and to Steve. And I'm sure as hell sure it's important to you."

Caught off guard by that little speech, Bucky said nothing for a long moment, staring down at the stylus in his left hand instead.

When he spoke, he knew his voice was hoarse with emotion. "Thanks."

Nodding sharply, Tony stepped away from him, and Bucky only realised how close they'd been standing when they weren't anymore. "So. Board meeting to present this thing is in three days. Think you'll be ready?"

"Pretty sure I could take on the world, with this," Bucky replied.

He knew he'd do anything he could to help Tony, after this. And not just because Tony was too damned pretty to resist.

Bucky bit back a sigh.

He was definitely in over his head this time.


	5. Chapter 5

[[ Tony POV ]]

He was still more than a little bit surprised that the presentation of the prosthetic to the Board had gone over so well. Despite all his misgivings, Pepper's clever arguments in favor and Bucky's careful demonstrations of the device -- which he'd willingly had Tony remove on the spot to show that it wasn't just a layer of armour plating over his actual arm -- had backed him up so neatly that the most the Board had been able to argue had been the manufacturing costs.

That, Pepper had countered with the potential PR gains, and under an hour into the meeting Tony'd had the go-ahead to start the R&D department on the project.

Now, four days later, he was staring down the metaphorical barrel of a loaded gun.

Bucky had agreed to do the presentation to the Board mostly because it had been a small room and ten people. One of the conditions the Board had insisted on, though, after Bucky had been escorted out by Pepper, so that the corporate secret portions of the meeting could commence, was that there be a very big and very public presentation of the new tech, in both a televised press conference that would be arranged ASAP and at a minimum of the next four big Engineering and Medical conferences in the next six months.

Somehow, he was pretty sure it would take a lot of convincing to get Bucky to agree to do that.

Tony scrubbed at his face with his hands.

Maybe he'd have to enlist Steve's help.

\------

"You know," Steve suggested, "you could just ask him."

Tony groaned. "He listens to you. I'm just the the guy who's nominally his best friend's boss."

"Maybe so," came the calm reply, "but he likes you and he's been over the moon about being able to do things with two hands again."

"Well, you're no help," he grumbled, pointedly ignoring Steve's laughter.

"Fine, I'll ask him, but I'm telling you right now, you'll probably have to deal with him in person if I do."

\------

Unsurprisingly, the next day, Bucky was at the workshop door, scowling. Somehow, it only made the man more attractive, and Tony wanted to kick himself for even thinking that. This guy was strictly off limits. He couldn't let himself dig this hole he was in any deeper.

Tony carefully hid a wince, and sauntered over to let him in. "Barnes," he drawled, "what brings you here?"

"First. I thought I asked you to call me Bucky. Second, why the hell are you hiding in here and making Steve do your dirty work?" His expression was dark enough that Tony had to turn away or give away just how badly embarrassed he was.

"Right. Bucky." He paused, then shrugged. "Look, I know it was probably not the best choice, but--"

"But?" Bucky sounded oddly less angry.

"Well," Tony mumbled, "it would have really stung to be turned down?"

With a disbelieving huff, Bucky stepped around to stand in front of him, forcing Tony to meet his eyes or attempt to sink through the floor. Deciding that it couldn't get much worse, Tony defiantly stood what ground he had left.

"Tony," Bucky sounded sympathetic, now, and fuck if that didn't make him feel _worse_ somehow. "That's not exactly a new phenomenon. Everyone feels that way. You think it was easy coming home down an arm, and knowing that even surviving would be hard? In that situation it's tough to even find a place to live and a job that pays enough to live on."

Tony forced a nod. "I've seen the statistics. Why do you think I'm trying to get this project through?"

"I think," Bucky sounded like he was trying not to smile, "that you're trying to do this because it's the right thing to do. Because it'll make a whole lotta people's lives better. Because you're one of those rare people who give a flying fuck about someone they don't know personally or need something from."

Tony glanced up properly at that little speech, stunned, and found himself pinned in place like a butterfly by the look in Bucky's blue-grey eyes.

"I think," Bucky went on, "that you're on a mission to change the world, and damn anyone in your way."

Fuck, if this went on, he was going to cry. Tony had to force the words out. "You're being ridiculous, Bucky. This is just good PR."

Bucky sniffed at him, clearly not buying the line for a minute. "It's a hell of a lot more than that, and we both know it. You really think I'd have gone along with this if I thought you were just in it for the press?"

Tony winced. "Maybe? For Steve's sake?"

"Steve knows better than that. He wouldn't point me at anyone he thought would take advantage."

Well, shit.

Drawing a stuttering breath, Tony found the resolve to look away and fiddle with the half-built hand lying on his worktable. He couldn't find the words to say anything. This conversation hadn't gone at _all_ the way he'd thought it would.

Eventually, Bucky broke the building silence. "I'll do the press with you," he said, "but only because it's you."

Swallowing against the emotion that was making speech difficult, Tony managed to rasp. "Thanks."

\------

Pepper had taken on the planning once they had Bucky's go-ahead, and Tony was grateful for that minor reprieve. He really didn't know what to think of Bucky's speech in the lab three days ago.

Not that mulling it over, repeatedly, was getting him any closer to an answer.

The only solution to the problem that made any kind of sense was that Bucky was as attracted to him as he was to Bucky, but the odds of that being true were so low as to be negligible. It just wasn't possible.

Now, standing together backstage, before the press conference and presentation, Bucky looked blank. He was carefully hiding his trepidation under a mask of calm competence, and Tony only wished he could do the same. No, he was going to have to play ringmaster and guide the reporters out there to the conclusion he wanted them to reach.

Which meant setting aside the distracting thoughts about Bucky and his too-handsome face. Not to mention the toned muscles. Bucky could probably still win a wet t-shirt contest, even now, fuck.

Wait. Wrong train of thought.

Bucky's calm mask broke for a moment. "Tony?"

"I'm fine," he dredged up a smile that didn't feel too stiff. "Just wandering thoughts."

With a skeptical look, Bucky replied, "just don't let them distract you while you're up there."

"I'll be fine. Done this so many times I could do it in my sleep," Tony told him breezily. "Watch and learn."

With a last wink and a smirk, he led the way up onto the small 'stage'. He could almost physically feel Bucky's tension and nerves, but knew that he wouldn't be alone up there. Bucky would follow through.

* * *

[[ Bucky POV ]]

Looking out over that sea of expectant faces had been... Bucky forced down a shudder. He hadn't been scared, by any means, but he knew his organic hand had shaken throughout the entirety of the press conference.

As unused to this kind of media exposure as he was, only Tony's steady presence, as though they were alone in the workshop like they had been so often, had kept him from letting the nerves get the better of him.

Now, looking back, Bucky was kind of amazed nothing had gone wrong. Well, not with the demonstration, anyway. No, the questions that Tony had needed to field for him... those had been the harrowing part. None of it mattered, and Tony had deftly stepped in to shoot down the more outrageous questions out of hand, but enough of his personal life had been exposed by the questions he'd had to answer that Bucky just _knew_ the rest would be dissected and probably researched. As though he were somehow important or suddenly a celebrity, just because Tony had asked him to model his new gadget.

Bucky spared a moment to be thankful that there wasn't much in his past to dissect.

He did kind of wish he were important, but only to a few very specific people. Being a celebrity wasn't what he wanted, necessarily. And that wasn't about to happen. Not even if Steve thought he had a chance. That jerk had no idea how dating worked, and, now that he'd been on one date with his crush, suddenly he knew everything about it.

That know-it-all attitude was nothing new, and normally something Bucky ignored as much as he could, but right now? It was just irritating.

Bucky tried not to glare daggers at the back of Steve's head. His best friend was standing at the stove heating up some leftovers.

"You know, Buck," Steve said after a beat, "I gotta say. You looked good up there."

Bucky snorted. "I doubt that."

"Nah," Bucky could hear the smirk in Steve's voice as he answered, "Tony's good at those kinds of things. He knows how to make it work, even if the crowd's hostile, and they weren't today. And it helps that he likes you. It shows. Makes you both look better to the press."

Bucky groaned and stood, stepping over to throw a less-than-serious punch at Steve's shoulder with his organic hand. "Damn it, Steve, we've been over this."

"I know you don't believe me, Bucky, but he's interested. Pepper's said as much."

"I don't believe you, Rogers. Gossiping about my nonexistent love life with your new girlfriend?" Bucky was tempted to bury his face in his hands, but he wasn't _quite_ confident enough with the prosthetic yet to do that. Tony had only just started letting him wear it for longer periods of time a day ago. In that time he'd broken several coffee mugs and accidentally half-crushed the bathroom doorknob.

Steve laughed. "A girlfriend who happens to be Tony's assistant, and knows him better than anyone else alive. Who better to ask about him?"

Making a face, Bucky groaned. "You know what, shut up and cook. I'm going to go take off these fancy duds."

He tried not to think about the fact that Tony had all but gifted the suit to him, just for the press conference.


	6. Chapter 6

[[ Bucky POV ]]

A week later, Tony invited him back to the workshop. Bucky, for all that he liked Tony a lot and felt comfortable with him, meantime, couldn't help but feel that this request for a meeting hid something more unpleasant.

Walking into the workshop only reinforced the impression. The large area was oddly silent, and almost sinister without the ubiquitous glow of the holographic interfaces that were usually active. "Tony?"

There was a clang, as though a wrench had fallen to the concrete floor, and then the silence broke.

"Be right there," Tony called back, hauling himself out from underneath one of his cars. 

It didn't take more than a few seconds for Tony to jump to his feet and saunter over, wiping grease off his hands with a shop rag. It didn't work as well as he'd hoped, clearly, with the way he scowled at it briefly before tossing it aside. "Right. So."

Biting back a bemused sigh, Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. "What'd'ya want?"

"The Board wants to take this show on the road to a few conferences, boost awareness and all that," Tony opened, clearly nervous, though Bucky wasn't sure why. "I didn't want to spring that on you in addition to the press conference."

Cocking his head and watching Tony for a moment in silence resulted in an uncomfortable squirm. When he could take the silence no longer, Tony went on. "Look, I know it's a lot to ask, but I have little other choice if I want this project to really get enough momentum to make a difference."

Bucky mulled the question over for another moment. "Lemme get this straight." He pointed at Tony with the prosthetic, enjoying being able to gesture fluidly with it. "You want to make me your posterchild for this ... whatever it is. This commercial. For your prosthetics."

Tony nodded. "More or less. Comes with a salary and benefits, if that matters."

It definitely did sweeten the deal, but there was a lot more Bucky wanted to know. "How long is this gig gonna last? What else is involved? Come on, Tony. Informed consent was your buzzword at the beginning of all this. Talk to me. You can't expect me to jump without knowing more than that."

The implication that he was willing to do it, got Tony to meet his eyes, a hopeful look on his face. "To start with? Six months. The Board wants us to his the major engineering and medical conferences on the Eastern Seaboard, mostly, though there will probably be a couple on the West Coast as well. Possibly Texas or Florida. You won't be expected to do much more than at the press conference. Show off your arm and what it can do. Let me do the talking. Yeah, we'll be on stage, and there will probably be crowds. But there will be event security to keep it from getting too out of hand, and, if it comes to that, I know you can defend yourself."

"Prefer not to have to in a civilian context," Bucky agreed, "but I can."

"Does that mean you'll do it?" Tony couldn't seem to help asking him again. The expression on his face said plain as day that he hadn't intended to voice the question and wasn't sure whether to regret it or not.

It was sort of cute.

Pushing the thought away, Bucky, took a deep breath and held it for a moment. He'd made his decision a few minutes ago, but hadn't wanted to admit it, and he suspected Tony knew it, too. "Only 'cause it's you askin'."

Who was he kidding. He'd have agreed to do it just to get some more time around Tony. This could get dangerous.

Probably already was.

Oh well.

\------

Two weeks later, Bucky had already lost track of all the acronyms that had been flung around. Any number of conference organisers, medical societies, and engineering societies seemed to want a piece of them. Pepper had her hands full dealing with the emails alone, and Steve had volunteered to help her with the rest.

Bucky wasn't sure that was necessarily a good idea, on Steve's part, but one of his friend's strengths had always been strategy and logistics.

The first conference, thankfully at home in New York, was coming up in ten days, and Bucky wasn't sure whether he was looking forward to it or not.

On the one hand, it meant more time he could spend with Tony, guilt free, without having to consider other meetings and obligations. On the other... he never had liked crowds of people that much. He'd put up with them for the sake of going to events like concerts, but he really was much more comfortable with five or ten people around him than a thousand.

\------

Bucky tried to keep himself from staring around the conference center like a country bumpkin. He'd been in large complexes like this before, knew roughly what it should be like, but that utterly failed to convey the atmosphere of the place.

The buzz of excitement was almost a physical sensation.

Granted, it was also _very_ different being on this side of the podium. The lights were dazzling, and Bucky just knew he was going to be doing a deer in headlights impression once they were actually out there. 

Steve, here in Pepper's place since she had gotten called in to the office to deal with some emergency or other, put a hand on his shoulder, jerking Bucky out of his thoughts.

Clearing his throat, Bucky caught his friend's eyes. "Yeah?"

"Don't go losing yourself in your thoughts, jerk," Steve said quietly. "You're here and we are, too."

Tony stepped up behind Steve. "Just breathe," he instructed with a grin. "It'll be overwhelming at first, but you'll adjust. Don't think I didn't see how you relaxed during the press conference for this."

"I--" Bucky swallowed but nodded. "No promises."

"Mr. Stark, sir?" the aide assigned to them broke in. "Thirty seconds."

Giving the young lady a nod, Tony turned back to Bucky. "You'll be great. Come on. Deep breath, and follow my lead."

Tony, Bucky reflected, was entirely too good at inspiring trust and confidence.

\------

After that, the next three months seemed to speed by in a blur of flights, conferences, and ritzy hotel rooms.

Bucky wasn't sure how he felt about it. Tony was acting no differently, but Bucky could feel himself trusting more with each passing day. It wouldn't be much longer before he would miss the asshole, when they had to part ways.

Hell, if he was honest with himself, he already would.

Steve, somewhat to Bucky's surprise, was still dating Ms. Potts and seemed to be enjoying it to the hilt. The problem with that was that he'd started pushing Bucky to ask Tony on a date again. Phrases like 'He likes you Buck', 'I'm sure he wouldn't turn you down', and 'You'd be great together' came up frequently in conversation now. Bucky simultaneously wanted to sigh in resignation and also punch Steve in the face.

Steve meant well, but it would never work. If for no other reason than the fact that Tony had a very deserved reputation for having a new person on his arm every week, and Bucky didn't want to just be a notch on someone's bedpost. No matter how attractive they were. He'd made a point of not doing that in any of his liaisons thus far, and saw no reason to change that stance now.

Another week passed, and then he and Tony were booked at another conference at home in New York. This time, oddly, it seemed to have more to do with fashion and modeling than anything else.

Tony, when asked, shrugged sheepishly and pointed out the sheer amount of media coverage.

Bucky suspected an ulterior motive.

It wasn't until he met Janet Van Dyne that he understood.

They were backstage, and Bucky was amusing himself by watching the bustle of the models and their makeup artists, when the relative quiet was shattered by a pleased exclamation. "Tony!"

A tiny, very fashionably dressed, pixie-ish woman rushed at them and threw herself into Tony's arms. Laughing at her, Tony set his arms at her waist and swung her around once, all easy strength and grace. "Jan! It's great to see you again."

"Oh, the moment I heard you would be here, I _had_ to come see for myself," she replied, her earrings swinging and reflecting the light distractingly. "Word on the street is you've got some new invention to promote." Stepping back she turned and caught Bucky's eyes. "And who might you be, then? Man of the hour, certainly, judging by that eye-catching accessory."

Tony interceded, introducing him. "Jan, this is my willing lab rat, former Army Sergeant James Barnes. James, one of my oldest friends, Ms. Janet Van Dyne."

Bucky shoved lightly at Tony's shoulder and stepped around him, offering her his good hand. "Pleased, I'm sure. Call me Bucky."

"Not nearly as pleased as I am," she shot back, giving him a once over as she put her hand in his and let him kiss the knuckles. "How tall are you?"

Straightening, Bucky raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm 5'10". Why?"

"Hmm," she mused. "Little short. But all muscle, by the look of you. I'm guessing you weigh, what, 210 lbs?"

Bucky snorted, bemused. "215, actually, with the new arm. Now, why do you care?"

"Tony," Jan said, imperiously, "I want to borrow him for a show or two."

Tony shrugged, unconcerned. "He's his own man. Bucky?"

For his part, Bucky wasn't sure quite what had just happened. "You," he said slowly, "want me to model?"

Jan nodded. "I've asked Tony the same, too, but he turns me down every time."

"Hey," Tony defended himself lazily, "I've been on more than enough magazine covers to claim I've had a modeling career, and you know it. Bucky, however, has only just begun his journey into the world of media and reportage."

Hesitating, Bucky hedged a bit in his response. "Ask me again later, Ms. Van Dyne."

Laughing, she shook her head at him. "Tony," she directed, "give him my contact information, would you, darling? I don't have a card on me right now. And you," she turned back to Bucky, "I expect a decision before Friday, so that I can plan appropriately."

Bucky swallowed back his half-formed protest. "Understood."

With a last look at them and a nod, she was gone, a whirlwind of energy and enthusiasm.

Tony watched her go with a fond smirk. "Well, come on, Buckaroo, we're up soon."

Taking a breath, Bucky tried not to sound too obviously stunned. "Did that just happen?"

"It did," Tony patted him on his good shoulder, tone utterly unsympathetic. "Jan's good people. I'd give it a chance."


	7. Chapter 7

[[ Bucky POV ]]

It took Bucky three days to make his decision. He'd been 'assisted' by Steve, but managed to resist all but the most outrageous attempts on Steve's part to convince him. In the end, though, he called Ms. Van Dyne late on Thursday afternoon and accepted. Albeit with some trepidation.

He'd never done anything like this before. Not ever.

But, he reasoned, he'd managed to get through the initial press conference and the publicity tour so far. This probably wouldn't be much worse.

\------

By Friday evening, he was convinced it would be much worse.

Ms. Van Dyne had called him twelve times -- he'd kept count after the third -- throughout the day with seeming random questions about his eye color and skin tone. Oh, and did he prefer pastel colors or jewel tones? What about contrasts and complementary colors? What kind of stitching did he like? What was his waist size? What kind of underwear did he prefer? And then there were the incomprehensible questions about makeup. He flat out ignored them and told her he knew nothing about it.

Not that it stopped her for long.

The show itself was set to go on from Tuesday to Thursday, in Downtown New York. Bucky was relieved that at least he wouldn't have to travel to subject himself to this rigmarole. Settling his face in his hands and bracing his arms on the kitchen table, Bucky groaned. Steve, the asshole, had the gall to laugh at him from his position at the counter, making a sandwich.

Ugh. He'd never really understood the appeal of fashion beyond what looked nice and fit well. Why the hell had he agreed to this again?

Oh, right. Steve. 

\------

"You know," Jan -- she'd insisted he use her nickname less than five minutes after he'd arrived on site -- said, as she eyed him from head to toe, "it's a shame Tony's not here."

She'd pried him out of his customary jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket, and crammed him into slacks that felt way too tight and a shirt he was afraid would come apart at the seams if he tried to reach above his shoulders. She'd stepped back to survey the effect, then shaken her head and rolled up the sleeves to his elbows without a word.

Trying not to move and destroy the clothes, Bucky eyed her. "Why's that?"

Jan raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, the man's clearly smitten and you clean up nice. He'd eat you up with a spoon."

Oh great. Jan too? Biting back a frustrated sigh, Bucky shook his head. "I doubt that. And anyway, it would never work."

Jan shrugged, but let it go. "Fine. I need to get you on stage soon anyway. You clear on what you need to do?"

Bucky just knew it would come up again, though. "Besides look pretty?" he joked. "Pretty sure I can handle strutting a catwalk. Not like I have to do it in crazy heels like the ladies."

"Oh!" Jan all but lit up, "Now _there's_ an idea."

Fuck. "Oh, no," Bucky backed away from her carefully, his hands out defensively. "Hell fucking no. I'd break my neck."

"Jan!" the stage manager shouted at her, "get your people ready and lined up! You're on in two!"

Suitably distracted, Jan nodded. "We're continuing this discussion later."

The rest of the afternoon was a whirlwind of light, color, and camera flashes. Bucky was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to see properly for at least an hour. He'd flopped down into a convenient chair the moment the show was over and he could get backstage again. He hurt from his neck to his knees, a surprising amount of tension in his muscles from constantly forcing his posture straight or standing for what seemed like hours on end. His face ached, too.

And his feet.

It had been a while since he'd had to stand for so long at a stretch, and the shoes Jan had picked out for him hadn't been all that comfortable, either.

"Not bad for an amateur," Jan settled gracefully next to him with a pleased expression, reminding him again of his first comparison of her to a pixie. She seemed to land, drifting down through the air, to land as softly as a feather.

Bucky groaned. "I'm going to have to soak for an hour to get my shoulders unlocked."

The comment got a light laugh. "Tony's got really nice hands," she offered, smile turning knowing.

Fucking hell. He didn't really need more ammunition for his imagination. Torn between chiding her and prying for more information, Bucky hesitated.

The pause was enough for her to decide to continue, picking delicately at her nails and studiously not looking at him. "He loves to turn everything slow and draw things out. It's pretty damn amazing. Not that you heard anything from me, obviously. "

"You two..." Bucky bit his lip.

Jan looked up at him and made a face. "We tried dating. It didn't last more than two weeks. We're too alike in some ways, Tony and I, and far too different in others. We decided to break it off rather than ruin our friendship. But," she sighed longingly, "it does make for some very nice memories."

"I--" Bucky started. He cut the thought off, not sure himself what he wanted to say.

"You two would be good together. And I do still care about him. I want him to be happy, and something tells me you'd be good for him."

Well, that explained why she was trying to push this issue.

In a moment of clarity, Bucky realised something. Steve was probably thinking the same about him.

A short silence fell and drew out. Jan eventually broke it. "Why are you resisting this so much?"

Why indeed. All of his reasons suddenly seemed about as strong as wet newspaper. They made sense to him, but trying to convince Jan would be substantially more difficult. Gathering his wits, Bucky tried anyway. "Jan," he said quietly, "I'm a washed out war vet with a history of PTSD and depression. I have no job, no money, and no real prospects. This gig my best friend roped me into, testing the arm for Tony? That's all the purpose I have in life, right now. And it doesn't feel right, after all Tony's done for me, to even think about asking for more."

"And if he wanted it?" Jan persisted. "If Tony wanted more?"

"I don't know," he told her.

That was a lie, though. He knew it even before the words left his lips. He'd say yes if Tony approached him. Without a second thought. And if that wasn't scarier than being in freefall, he didn't know what was.

Jan gave him a measuring look that heavily implied she knew what he was thinking. She did change the topic, though. "I still think you'd be devastating in heels," she said.

Bucky buried his face in his hands and groaned.

\------

Much later that evening, after he'd spent the afternoon lying on the grass in Central Park and trying not to think before retreating to the apartment to shower the grass and makeup off, Bucky watched suspiciously as Steve walked in the apartment door with a broad smile on his face.

"Hey Buck," he called out in greeting, "I hear you were a hit at the show."

Bucky huffed. "I guess? I have no idea how to judge that. But Jan was happy."

Steve shrugged. "Fashion is weird. You can be at the top one week and forgotten the next. But if Ms. Van Dyne is happy, then I wouldn't worry. She knows what she's doing."

"Where'd you hear about that anyway?" Bucky asked him, curious. It was the wrong move. He could tell by the way Steve's amusement took on a dark edge.

"Tony," Steve began, making Bucky want to throw something, "was keeping tabs."

"That's horseshit," he replied bluntly. "You were."

"Well, sure," Steve said agreeably. "But that doesn't mean my statement's not true."

Growling under his breath Bucky forced himself up off the sofa. "Also doesn't mean I believe you. But that's beside the point."

"It is," Steve nodded. "The point is that you're being willfully blind. But we can deal with that later. Let's get dinner on the table first. You're in a mood."

\------

After that, he and Tony always seemed to cross paths at the least opportune moment. Bucky suspected Steve's involvement. Or possibly his girlfriend's. The two of them were still being disgustingly sappy and cute. The way Steve always lit up when she entered the room was ridiculous. He all but worshiped the ground she walked on, and Bucky couldn't even find it in him to be envious.

Wistful, though... yeah. Definitely wistful.

There were still six weeks left on their original agreement, and currently three conferences on their docket. Somehow Bucky suspected that those three conferences would rank among the most stressful.

And after that... Bucky swallowed back the emotion that threatened to close his throat. After that, they would be parting ways. Possibly permanently. Bucky would be going back to his therapy with Sam, and Tony... Tony would be doing whatever it was he normally did, when he wasn't doing a publicity tour.


	8. Chapter 8

[[ Tony POV ]]

Three days after the show, the invitations started. Tony lasted another three days before he started to suspect something was up.

Oh, they were subtle. Tony had to give Pepper credit for that, but she was doing her best to make sure that Bucky was underfoot anytime possible. Usually on a made up pretext. Steve helped her, damn the man and his tactical background.

The first few days, the excuses were more or less plausible. After that it started to fade into the outlandish. After the third time Bucky had shown up, looking almost resigned, to ask Tony to adjust the grip strength on his arm, Tony had started paying attention, and realised what game they were playing.

It fell somewhere between enjoyable and painful.

Every time he saw Bucky, he was reminded that he _wanted_ , and then that it wasn't possible.

Half the time, Bucky managed to sneak up on him, too, and that was not good for his sanity. Being suddenly presented with someone he wanted but couldn't have, without time to prepare himself, was going to end in Tony kissing him without thinking about it, at some point. And that would end in all kinds of horror, and possibly violence.

What Tony didn't know was whether Bucky was in on it. He always seemed to be irritated about something, recently, and refused to talk about it.

A knock at the workshop door distracted him from his thoughts. Turning to glance at the clock in the corner of his display confirmed his suspicions. Steve stood on the far side of the glass door, looking expectant, and it was almost 12:30. Lunchtime. He had no doubt Bucky would be there, too, knowing Steve's somewhat heavy handed approach to tactics. The man was good at what he did, really, he was. He just also happened to have all the subtlety of a brick through the window.

Tony was tempted to refuse.

Steve raised an eyebrow at him and crossed his arms. He managed to somehow look both impatient and vaguely threatening. Odds were good that meant he'd call Pepper to let him into the workshop in a minute.

Standing with a resigned sigh, Tony gave JARVIS the commands to save and exit. "Lock up the shop while Daddy's gone," he said.

"Very well, sir," JARVIS replied smoothly. "I would like to remind you that it would be prudent to clean the grease off your hands before eating, however."

"Smart alec." Tony shook his head and took the hint. He made his way over to the sink and took a palm-full of degreaser, watching as it foamed and turned dark grey before he rinsed it off his hands.

Deciding that was as good as it was going to get, Tony grumbled under his breath about well-meaning friends and their stupid ideas as he walked back over to the door of the workshop. Pushing it open and not caring that he forced Steve to take a step back and to the right to avoid getting hit by it, Tony stalked past him.

He heard the door fall shut behind him and Steve hurrying to catch up to him.

"You're in a mood today," Steve observed. "What's wrong?"

Tony just knew anything he said would be turned against him somehow if he actually answered truthfully, so he said nothing.

After a beat Steve shrugged and pressed the elevator call button at the end of the short hallway outside the workshop. There was nothing else on this floor. "Fine, whatever. Don't tell me, then. But you're coming to lunch and you're eating more than whatever little snack you always try to get away with. You'll feel better with some food in your belly."

Steve had a point, but Tony wasn't about to admit it. And it wasn't going to solve the problem.

What would solve the problem would be asking Bucky on a date and getting turned down so he could get Steve and Pepper off his case. But that would have consequences. If he did that, Bucky would probably never set foot in the building again, and Pepper would be yelling at him about yet another harassment lawsuit. (Granted, he'd won all the others so far, because he hadn't actually done anything, but that wasn't the point.)

Masochistic as he was, he wanted Bucky around. Even if he didn't want to have to face Bucky directly and have his illusions shattered, Tony couldn't seem to keep away from the man. And, at the same time, he didn't dare hope that that there was friendship there besides the attraction.

No, he reminded himself as Steve lead the way off the elevator and toward the cafeteria on the 10th floor, better to maintain the status quo.

Predictably, Pepper and Bucky were seated at a table at the back corner of the room, waiting for them. Bucky caught sight of them first, his eyes focusing on Steve, and straightened in his seat. Pepper, ever observant, noticed the change and turned. She all but lit up when she saw Steve, and Tony wanted to groan. He'd thought for a while that he might be able to achieve that level of feeling with Pepper. And, in retrospect, he could see now what he couldn't then. They were just too different, in too many ways, to make it work without a lot of effort on both their parts. Their schedules were both nightmarish. It had become a problem in under a month, and after two they had called it quits.

Steve's hand landing on the back of his shoulder jerked him back out of his memories and steered him gently toward the line for food. "Come on, Tony," he said, "let's get something to eat before we sit down."

Tony gave in, picking things more or less at random from the buffet style service. Steve 'helped' by adding a few more things to the tray, over Tony's grumbled objections.

Steve's own tray seemed like it would overflow soon. Tony eyed it. He wasn't sure how Steve was bending the rules of physics to his will to get everything to stay on it. Somehow, though, he managed it. They got past the cashier -- who just waved Tony through -- and to the table without mishap.

Tony could feel eyes on him with every step he took, but he'd have dismissed it as the same as usual -- the crowd watching every move he made -- had it not been for the fact that Bucky's eyes were on him too. That made it more intense, somehow, and Tony almost stumbled over his own feet once he realised that. Steve reached out to steady him, managing to make it look casual, but Tony had to fight to keep his face straight.

Fuck, but he had it bad.

It was a relief to set the tray of food down and let himself half-fall into a seat. At least he wouldn't trip and fall on his face now. Steve claimed the last remaining seat, between Pepper and Bucky, opposite him.

"Tony," Pepper greeted him with a measuring look in her eyes. "Where have you been all morning?"

"In the 'shop," he replied, confused. "Why?"

"I tried to call you four times," she told him. Bucky made an amused sound in the back of his throat.

Tony made a face at him before he turned back to Pepper and raised an eyebrow at her. "Okay, I don't think I believe you. First, I got no notices from JARVIS, and never heard my phone ring. Second, you know where I am at all times, with your freaky efficiency. If you really needed something you'd have come and gotten it." Steve chuckled, and Tony took the opportunity to try to shift the attention away from him. "See, Steve agrees."

"That wasn't agreement, Tony," Bucky put in. "Don't you know when he's trying to put you in a corner yet?"

Pepper gave him a bright smile, and Tony had to wonder what was even happening here. "What did you want, Pep?"

"I wanted you to come join us for lunch," she told him, and Tony narrowed his eyes at her.

There had to be an ulterior motive, here.

Tony decided to just wait her out to see what it was, at this point. Eventually, it would come out, and then he could deal with it. He could try to guess -- and he had a suspicion he knew what she was attempting to do, here, and it had to do with the guy sitting to his left -- but until he knew, he wasn't making a move. Upsetting Bucky wasn't high on his list of things to do.

Not if he could avoid it, anyway.

Shaking his head at them Steve interceded, much to Tony's relief. "Pepper," he asked, "what did you think of the newest MoMA exhibit?"

The rest of the meal passed in uneventful small talk, much to Tony's relief.

It wasn't until they stood to leave the large room that the Incident Tony had been half-dreading occurred. They'd safely managed to get their trays dealt with and he'd gone back for some more coffee. When he'd been about two steps away from the group, Steve managed to half-turn and almost collide with Bucky. Bucky successfully dodged Steve, but Tony couldn't dodge him.

With a yelp, Tony tried to keep the hot coffee from drenching both of them. He only partially succeeded. His clothes were probably ruined. The mostly-crisp white button up he'd been wearing was now splattered from waist to neck, and he hastily untucked it to keep the hot coffee from burning his skin. It was tempting to undo some of the buttons too, but he resisted. Bucky had escaped, mostly. His jeans had become a casualty, but that wasn't too serious, luckily.

"Hey, you okay in there?"

Tony only belatedly realised that Bucky was speaking to him. "I... Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about that."

Steve pointed to the door with his chin. "Let's get out of here. You both need a change of clothes, if we can scrounge one up. I'm pretty sure you and Tony are the same waist size, or close enough to get by. And Tony probably need to make sure he didn't get burned. That coffee looked pretty hot."

And didn't _that_ sound like distilled danger. "I'm fine, Steve," Tony managed to get out.

He did not need to picture Bucky in his underwear. Or wearing his clothes. But there was no denying it in public. That would only spread like wildfire. Even moreso than the scene Steve had already caused. Tony bit down on his tongue and nodded. 

Almost before he knew what had happened, Pepper and Steve had all but thrown them into Tony's private elevator together. The one that only connected directly to his penthouse, the executive floor, the workshop, and the lobby.

Bucky stared at the inside of the doors for several long seconds after they'd closed on Steve and Pepper -- both wearing obvious smirks -- with laser focus. As though he could light the two of them on fire with his eyes.

Tony could sympathise. He wanted to do much the same right about now.


	9. Chapter 9

[[ Bucky POV ]]

When Tony shifted uncomfortably next to him and started undoing the buttons of his shirt, Bucky had to swallow back a quiet whimper and renewed his attempt to stare a hole through the elevator doors.

"You know," Tony muttered, "I think you were right about Steve trying to put me in a corner. Smug bastard."

Startled, Bucky couldn't quite hold back his laughter. "Yeah, he's good at that kind of shit."

"He done this before?" Tony sounded like he was caught between grudging admiration for how smoothly Steve had pulled it off and irritation that it had worked.

Bucky shrugged. Might as well acknowledge what was going on, at this point. The jig was up and Steve wasn't liable to stop trying. "Not to me. Used to be I was trying to set _him_ up with people. If you want him to stop, you've gotta beat that through his thick skull." That got Tony to stare at him in disbelief. "What?" Bucky knew he sounded defensive. "The punk doesn't know how to take no for an answer. I've already asked him not to."

Tony waved that away, still staring. "No, no," he said, "go back to the part where Steve's trying to set you up with me."

Bucky wasn't sure what Tony wanted. This conversation had just taken a left turn at Albuquerque and he had no idea where it was headed. He felt his shoulders hunching defensively against his will and tried to force them back down. "What do you want me to say? I can try talking to him again, I guess."

That was when things stopped making sense. Tony stepped around in front of him and Bucky could only brace himself for the worst.

All Tony did, though, was use a knuckle to tilt his face up until their eyes met. What Bucky saw there, that was the impossible thing. A mix of hope and disbelief that really ought, by all rights, to have been anger or offense. And the gentleness of the touch was almost devastating in its lack of heat or anger.

"Tony?"

"Come on," Tony said, but didn't budge until the elevator doors slid open behind him with a quiet ping. "I think we have a few things to talk about." With that, he turned away and led the way out of the elevator car causally stripping off his stained shirt as he walked.

Still rather bewildered and now very distracted by the bared skin he could see, but thankful that Tony wasn't upset, Bucky followed, a suspicion starting to take root deep behind his sternum somewhere as to _why_ Tony wasn't upset. He was starting to think that the hope and disbelief he'd seen were in fact the correct reactions to this turn of events.

It took him a couple of tries to get himself moving, but Bucky managed it, feeling like he was stepping into far more than just an open airy and very modern living room. The lines of the architecture looked sharp enough to cut the very air, and the furniture was minimalist. It was very Tony. And yet, it felt more like he was walking into Tony's life, in a very literal way. Tony might not spend a lot of time here, but this was fundamentally his space.

"On second thought," Tony announced, "I'm not doing this half dressed."

Bucky hesitated when Tony simply disappeared into the short hallway leading off the left side of the large open space and ducked into what Bucky assumed was his bedroom. He would have picked out a seat in the livingroom, had his pants not been soaked in coffee. Luckily the material of his jeans had been thick enough to keep the coffee from burning him. Bucky definitely thought Tony needed to be checked on, though.

And if he had an ulterior motive, he doubted Tony would object, based on the hints he'd dropped in the elevator.

"Right, these are a little big on me, try them on for size." Tony's voice jerked him back out of his thoughts, and Bucky turned. What he saw made all the words fall out of his head. Tony stood there in a pair of worn stained jeans and an A-shirt that seemed to have strategic rips in it. He was holding out another pair of worn jeans that had clearly seen many days in the workshop, but all Bucky could seem to focus on was the pair of well muscled arms and shoulders that were revealed by the choice of attire.

Well. More accurately, the lack thereof.

Tony raised an eyebrow at him and tossed the jeans at him, forcing Bucky to catch them. Fighting down a blush and clearing his throat, Bucky eyed him for a moment. "So, what, you expect me to strip down out here?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind, but you can use my en-suite bathroom, if you prefer." Tony smirked at him.

Damn him, the bastard knew both options would make Bucky feel awkward. Gritting his teeth against the words that tried to escape, Bucky took a breath and decided to take the dare. He shrugged. "Well, whatever. Never was much of one for modesty," he replied, faking calm as hard as he could, and reached for the button on his jeans.

To his surprise, Tony colored slightly and turned away to fiddle with something in the kitchenette on the far side of the living room.

Left to change in relative privacy, Bucky quickly did. Balling up the coffee stained jeans and turning back to Tony, he asked, "so where should I put these?"

"Give them here," Tony demanded, and tossed them through his bedroom door, presumably to end up on top of the stained button up he'd exchanged for the A-shirt. "Now. We need to hash out a few things. You said Steve was trying to set us up together. Why?"

He'd known the question was coming, but it still made him wince a little. He felt exposed, and even knowing that Tony would likely be receptive didn't help. He forced the words out. " 'Cause the punk knows I think you're attractive as hell, and outta my league. He disagrees."

Tony snorted, amused. "Well, that's somehow both surprising and not."

"You gonna tell me why Jan was trying to do the same?"

Tony laughed. "Jan does what she wants. She's a sweetheart, but don't cross her. She has a temper and she's stubborn. I suspect she decided we'd make a pretty picture and that was that."

Bucky raised an eyebrow but kept his thoughts on that to himself. Jan had put far more thought into it than that, and had told him as much at the show. "And what does Pepper think?"

"Why are you asking about Pepper?" Tony eyed him warily.

Bucky gave him a wry look. "If, despite everything that's led up to this conversation, we actually end up dating, I'll have no choice but to see her daily. She's your executive assistant and my best friend's girl. And, all that aside, that is one woman I do not want mad at me."

Tony shook his head. "Point taken. I suspect she's been helping Steve, actually."

"So what now?" Bucky didn't quite dare make the assumption he wanted to. "You never actually said whether you were interested or not."

"Now," Tony eyed him up and down, "that's a bit of an overstatement. I thought the blatant flirting was pretty clear. But if you need it in words. I've been forcing myself to hold back because I didn't think you'd be interested. If you are, though, that's different, and I want to show you all kinds of things that involve the two of us and a bed. And that prosthetic of yours."

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. "Bit of a tech fetish?"

"Hmm, not as such, but close enough." Tony stalked closer, reminding Bucky of a large predator in his grace. "Does that bother you?"

"Not as such," Bucky shot back, circling around to his left as Tony approached, not letting Tony get behind him or into his blind spots. Bucky could see that Tony noticed and appreciated that. It showed in his expression. "Do you put out on the first date?"

Tony smirked. "Depends. What are you offering?"

"Well, I thought we could neck on your ridiculous sofa for a while, and see where it goes from there."


	10. Chapter 10

[[ Bucky POV ]]

Bucky woke up and stared blankly at the ceiling. It was far higher up than before somehow. A beat later he concluded that this was decidedly _not_ his bed.

And the guy sprawled, more or less on top of him, pleasantly warm and surprisingly heavy, was definitely Tony Stark.

It took a moment for the dots to connect, and when they did, Bucky reached up to pinch at his ear.

Nope. He was awake.

It was 3 am, and he'd apparently passed out during the (very pleasant) make out session he'd instigated. That Tony had decided to stay was surprising, though. The man had more responsibilities than Bucky had ex-es. And that was saying something. Though, he had to admit to himself, Tony probably had even more ex-es.

Which, really, made it all the more surprising that Tony had picked _him_.

"Stop thinking so loud," Tony shifted and muttered in his ear.

Bucky startled then huffed at him. "Go back to sleep. It's ass early in the morning."

"Yeah, not likely." Tony stretched, letting Bucky feel every inch of contact as his bare skin slid against Tony's. "I'm awake now."

Rather than get up, though, he chose to trail kisses down Bucky's neck to the hickey Bucky had barely noticed him leaving last night. It stung when he closed his mouth over it again, and deepened it, as though he wanted it to last forever. Bucky groaned and shoved lightly at his shoulder. "Tony, for fuck's sake," he grumbled, "are you trying to make that last all month?"

Tony chuckled into his skin. "Maybe I am. What of it?"

"Possessive much?" Bucky decided he'd have to return the favor, and soon. Preferably in a place that would show. Let the world speculate over who'd put it there.

"Mmmh." Tony didn't bother denying it.

Well, that was okay. Bucky had no problem repaying him in kind.

He was looking forward to actually taking Tony to a bed, but he did want to take Tony out a few times first. Maybe that little Italian place on 56th was still there.

He'd look into it once the sun was up. For now, he had Tony in his arms, and he wanted to see if he could find any more sensitive spots. The one just under his collarbone was fun to mess with, but Bucky was fairly sure there were more.

Pulling Tony up and pinning his hips against his own, Bucky caught Tony's eyes. "You gonna tell me what you like or do I have to experiment?"

Tony laughed brightly. "My lips are sealed."

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh is that how it is."

"Yep." Tony wasn't giving an inch.

Well, Bucky decided, he wasn't going to turn down _that_ dare.

 

\--- Three months later ---

At the end of their official press tour, and about a month and a half into their relationship, Tony had invited him to move in. Bucky had been very unsure about the idea, but Steve and Pepper had more or less packed his things for him, and once he'd settled in, he'd adjusted quickly.

Granted, he'd spent more time trying to keep Tony on a halfway normal circadian rhythm than anything else, but he'd discovered early on that sex worked quite well as a way to lure Tony out of his workshop and into bed.

The end result had been that they'd gotten comfortable having one another around all the time, though, and Bucky sure as hell wasn't complaining about that. He _liked_ having the option to wrap himself around Tony if he had a nightmare, or pin Tony down in his workshop and force some lunch into him.

It had given him something to focus on that wasn't himself or Steve, or his sessions with Sam, and that had made a big difference in his recovery. More than the prosthetic that had brought them together.

It hadn't taken long after that for the Board to finally approve Tony's prosthetics project. The plan had been for it to become a new department within the company, based in New York, but Tony had lobbied to make it a separate daughter company for branding reasons. The Board had, according to Tony, seen the benefits of having a separate company in more of a legal light, but they'd agreed. _They just want a separate name so they can pin any PR disasters on it rather than the main company,_ Tony had grumbled, irritated despite getting his way. Bucky had just pulled his lover close with his prosthetic arm and pushed his nose into the hair behind Tony's ear.

Now, though, the company had been set up, and the press conference announcing its birth was about to air. Tony, standing next to him backstage, looked unaccountably nervous. Their relationship was still under wraps, or Bucky would have pulled him in for a kiss. "Hey," he said instead, "knock 'em dead. I've seen how you loosen up once the cameras are on you."

Their eyes met, and Tony laughed. "Right."

Bucky couldn't help grinning back. Something told him this was the beginning of something big.


End file.
